THX-1138 nightmare in most of these places. It happens that artists Brittney Anele, Ellen Phillips, and Lindsea Varisco have worked up some antidotes for the overdevelopment blues. Their cure: loose art, the kind of art that has a picaresque feeling, wistful, long-traveled, kind of funny, conversational. Brittney Anele's work is intrinsically comic, but not quite hardy har har. Baltimore-to-Houston transplant Ellen Phillips makes messy, nuanced paintings. Lindsea Varisco's sculptures recall the giant interior casts of Rachel Whiteread, except run through a shrinking machine and a quizzical Richard Tuttle filter. Which is to say, they're anti-monuments, cleverly casual. Everywhere you look, the place has that old car smell, musty, stuffed with memorabilia and fast food residue, broken-up in parts, familiar, messy, fingerprinted, handled.
One drives around the city everyday taking in the endless disused plots, overgrown with loose flora, the mangled construction gear everywhere, the broken up concrete, and that's the nice part of town. After that idyll, just try walking into a gallery without the succumbing to the creeping sadness of polish and aspiration. It's like a